Indecent Obsessions
by BronteLover
Summary: Dean and Sam's relationship begins to shift and change as Dean realises Sam is becoming a man, and that he had the rather impressive equipment to testify to that fact. While Sam obsesses over the fact the person who has the most appealing behind is in fact his older brother.


Dean discovered the joys of sex at the tender of age of thirteen when Mary Kraten, who was sixteen at the time, rode him while they were in the shed her father had converted into a kind of sitting room in their backyard.

It wasn't until he was fifteen that he slept with another man, one of the senior jocks at the high school he was in that month, who let Dean fuck him in the locker room a few hours after a big football game. Not that Dean played football, or really enjoyed watching it really, but he discovered that he did enjoy having his cock inside a nice, tight ass.

He had always liked experimenting. Sex was fun after all and it made him feel good. Especially after a particularly gruelling training session, or when John reprimanded him for being irresponsible, or when their father and Sam had yet _another _argument.

He was seventeen when he let a man fuck him for the first time, and realised that he was more than a bit of a size queen. He enjoyed the fact that the guy had to stretch him wide with four, thick fingers before he finally pushed into Dean's asshole. The almost overwhelming stretch made his toes curl and his teeth sink into his plush lower lip, as the man filled and fucked his insides until Dean was an almost babbling mess of come and sweat.

From that moment on he realised that he liked women with wet, tight pussies, and men with hot, clenching holes, and the fact that both milked his cock as he fucked them. He had nothing to be ashamed of in the size department himself, and quite a few of his partners' eyes had widened and mouths had dropped open as they struggled to take him inside of themselves.

But what he also liked, was the feeling of being skewered on a really magnificently huge cock, that seemed to almost push into his clicking throat as it made room inside of his passage for its girth. He also discovered that he liked coming from just having his prostate continuously stimulated, rather than having his dick touched, during sex. The feeling of the pleasure gradually building inside of his lower belly and his spine arching so that he could get that huge, thick intrusion deeper, while his thighs shook and his ass worked to suck it deeper inside, was a feeling only second to saving people and hunting things.

* * *

Dean had never really thought of sleeping with Sam _per se. _A tiny voice inside of his head did whisper filthy things about Sam's smooth, almond coloured skin that covered ripening muscles, and what it would look like with his come all over it, and that large, coral coloured mouth stretched around his fattened cock. He didn't actively think about fucking Sam or _being _fucked by Sam.

Like most things in Dean's life, the realisation that his younger brother had a huge, beautiful cock came upon him gradually, like a low tide that lapped at his feet. And as usual, that low tide soon turned into a tidal wave, and Dean was left gasping for air and picking seaweed out of his hair. Metaphorically of course.

Dean had always taken for granted the fact that Sam would be well endowed, after all that was the Winchester way. Dean was sure of that, because when he was twelve he'd left Sammy sleeping inside the impala, and sneaked off to see where his dad was. Instead of questioning witnesses like he'd said, his dad had been fucking a woman in an alley way behind a bar. He watched, utterly transfixed, as his father's rather large cock plunged in and out of her stretching core.

He had never really thought about what his brother being well endowed would mean for _him, _though. He supposed that he'd feel pride, but it was all really hypothetical, because Sam seemed to have the sexual urges of a stick insect. It was all very safe really, because Dean could hypothesise and fantasise all he wanted, but he'd never do anything, because he thought about Sam as some sacred vessel, unconsciously sexy and desirable, but unfailingly incorruptible.

* * *

By seventeen, Sam was reluctantly well versed in all monster lore, knife skills, and how to be a crack shot at a rather impressive amount of yards. Dean felt confident about leaving him in the hotel room after he'd checked the salt lines, and made sure that he'd checked in with their father for the night.

Sam waved him off dismissively when Dean told him that he was going out, barely taking his eyes off the history homework that he was doing. Dean went to one of the more decent bars in town, because he didn't feel like going home with a knife wound later and having Sammy stitch him up. Even if the kid did have steadier hands than a teenager giving stitches should.

Dean flashed his one of his fake I.D.'s, even though he was twenty—one, at the door, and entered the low lit room that had swirls of cigarette smoke lazily creeping towards the ceiling, and a jukebox that was lit up and playing some indistinguishable twangy country song. He ordered a beer on tap and downed half of it before the foam had really settled. It didn't take him long to spot a scantily clad red—head sitting alone at the bar. Her dress was so tight that he could see the faint outline of her pubic hair underneath it, a dead give away that she wasn't wearing underwear, nor was she wearing a bra, by the way her nipples were straining at the tight material stretched over her ample breasts.

He walked up to her, his smile lazy, and let his long fingers slide up her thighs until they parted, leaving little to the imagination.

She was a screamer, that was for sure, not that he really cared with how loud the music was inside the bar. Her dress was pulled down to expose her bouncing tits, and pushed up by how wide he had her legs stretched apart as he fucked up into her. He grunted in surprise when she took her own fingers that she'd slid into her mouth earlier, and trailed them down his back until she circled his tight, pink rim. As he fucked harder into her, so that his dick was just about pulsing inside of her stomach, she slipped two fingers inside of him, and proceeded to finger him rather enthusiastically.

He let his eyes fall shut as his orgasm unfurled inside of him, and the suddenly crystal clear image of having Sam's long, tanned fingers shoved up inside of him, popped into his head. He managed to grit his teeth and not call out his baby brother's name as he flooded the condom with his come, and felt the red—head's nails lightly scratch over his prostate as her dripping flesh convulsed around him.

She gave him one last kiss after she was fully dressed again, well as fully dressed as she could manage, and walked away into the night. He was relieved, the buzz of his orgasm still skittered along his flesh, but he suddenly felt disturbed by his pre-orgasm vision of Sam.

He walked home without incident, having not seen the point of driving his Baby when the town was hardly bigger than a collection of roadside rest-stops.

A faint glow from the lamp inside the room lit the motel room's curtains, signalling that Sam was still awake. He was probably still doing homework, or watching _Star Trek _re-runs, the nerd.

Dean opened the door and shut it quietly once he was inside the room. He double checked the salt line again, and then moved away from the door. At first he thought that Sam was watching porn. He was a teenage boy after all, and it wasn't as if Dean was a blushing virgin when it came to the joys of watching people having sex. But then he realised that there was no cheesy saxophone soundtrack or high pitched squeals intertwined with the lower, richer grunts coming from the room he and Sam were sharing.

He stopped just before the doorway, understanding making his stomach flip and the tips of his ears burn. Sam was _masturbating. _His seemingly asexual brother was doing something _sexual. _

In the colourful rush of a few seconds, his mind tripped and floundered over what seemed like a thousand different scenarios. Should he silently retreat and go for a walk, returning when Sam was finished stroking little Sammy? Should he get the whiskey that their dad had left below the kitchen zinc, and knock back a few burning tots, and try not to think how those low moans were making his cock perk up and his ass clench? Or should he walk right in there and replace Sam's big, bony fingered hand with his mouth? Suck him down until Sam choked him with his come?

_Slow down there, Speedy Gonzales. Let's not jump the dick…um…gun. _

One thing he could not stop himself doing, though, was peaking around the doorframe and watching Sam fuck his own fist. He gritted his teeth and gripped the doorframe hard enough to make it creak, something Sam was oblivious to.

_Jesus Christ on a pogo—stick. _Sam stood in front of the ancient free standing mirror in the corner of the room, stark naked, with his gorgeous dick clutched in his hand. Dean stood absolutely mesmerised as he took in the fact that Sam had two fingers stuffed inside of his dark pink, slick asshole, _and _the fact that Sam's dick was like a crimson, almost puce tipped, temple of rock hard flesh in his huge hand.

The smooth skin of his hand was wet with pre-ejaculate and lube, and his glorious cock was surrounded by more smooth, unblemished skin. _Sam shaves himself, _his mind proclaimed helpfully. _Like a porn-star! _**_Don't _**_think of him like that, you idiot!_

Dean stood stock still as Sam tensed up like he'd just put his cock in an electrical socket, and seemingly endless stream of thick, milky come coated the already tarnished glass of the mirror. Dean's eyes almost crossed as he tried to take in the spellbinding _girth _of that softening cock, and the way Sam's blood rich rim suckled around his fingers.

Dean bit his fist as he turned away, feeling slightly dizzy with arousal, his penis thick and hard behind the zip of his jeans, despite the fact that he'd had sex less that half an hour ago. He quietly approached the door, being careful not to make a sound as he left the room again, and made his way to the bag of the motel.

A field with overgrown grass and the rotting carcass of a Volkswagen Beetle were the only witnesses as he furiously finger-fucked himself, and came all over his fist and the pockmarked wall. He gritted his teeth so hard, as not to call out Sam's name for the second time that night, that his jaw ached.

* * *

If Dean had not been in such a rush to leave the motel room, his mind swimming with _dirty, bad, wrong _thoughts of his younger brother, then he would have registered the fact that it was _his _name Sam moaned as he unloaded onto the aged mirror.

Unlike Dean, Sam was a virgin. Not because he hadn't had ample opportunity to do the deed, but because whenever anyone got a look at the monster he was housing in his pants, they all but ran away screaming. Where had the all rumours that people liked to be split wide on a giant cock come from? Whoever started that rumour deserved to be drawn and quartered in Sam's opinion, because his self-esteem was in the toilet at the moment.

Despite his embarrassing lack of experience, Sam at least knew what he liked. While he was not adverse to the feeling of soft breasts in his hands, and warm, petite bodies, what he really hankered for was a nice, firm, round ass. But not just any ass could meet his specifications, and that was another reality that tormented Sam daily and well _nightly. _

The person to whom the most beautiful, _perfect _ass belonged to, was none other than his older brother. His sinfully sensuous, strong, loyal older_ brother_, whom he very much wanted to bend over and fuck until those flawless buttocks were pink with his handprints, and that hole was stretched and leaking his come.

It wasn't as if Dean was shy about letting people know of his sexual preferences, which were pretty wide reaching, but Sam seriously doubted that Dean was aware of Sam knowing how much Dean liked to bottom.

It had been about two years before, during the sweltering summer in the Lone Star State, that their dad had been hunting a banshee for a couple of weeks, leaving his sons alone in a small rented house. The night was marginally cooler than the day had been, and Sam thanked all the deities above that they had had air-con, even though it groaned rather worryingly. He had been half dozing on the sweat soaked sheets, stripped down to his boxers, when he heard the faint sounds of movement coming from the lounge.

He knew it had to been Dean, but when his brother didn't come to their room, he decided to investigate. He had a small knife, large enough to seriously injure someone or _something, _clutched in his hand, as he made his way down the passage. When he came to the alcove leading to the lounge, he suddenly stopped, rendered motionless by what he saw before him.

Dean had brought another man home, and by the looks of it he was quite a few years older than Dean. His white stetson sat on the coffee table, and his jeans, with an absurdly large Texas belt buckle, lay in a tangled heap with Dean's on the floor. Sam had an almost perfect view of the back of the stranger's head, neck and shoulders, where he was seated against the back of the old, brown couch. But it wasn't the stranger that drew and held Sam's gaze, but Dean, whose close-cropped hair looked almost silver in the moonlight spilling through one of the windows. His eyes were closed, while his pink, shining mouth was partially open, his expression one of almost pained bliss. His large, long fingered hands gripped the Texan's shoulders, as he rode him, little punched out whimpers intermingling with the other man's grunts.

Sam felt his cock give a blurt of pre-ejaculate at the sight of his brother, so beautiful, so _wanton _as he continued to fuck himself on another man's cock. Sam wondered how the Texan was managing not to come, because if he was Sam, he'd have already lost the struggle.

He knew when Dean was close, because his brother began to desperately bounce and buck on the man's lap, his even teeth sinking into the swell of his lower lip. He looked almost exquisite as his fingers gripped the other man's shoulders, his fingertips bloodless, and orgasmed with an almost triumphant, stifled cry.

Sam didn't know if the other man came, he couldn't care less, all he saw was his brother. A beautiful, ethereal, _unobtainable _creature seemingly originating in moonlight and ecstasy.

Sam moved back as Dean opened his eyes, cat-bright in the lowlight, and sank back against the cool wall of the hallway. He listened to Dean and the Texan get dressed, the soft sounds of Dean kissing him goodbye, and the door closing almost soundlessly, before he went back to their room.

When Dean came to their room, he pretended to sleep, his back to the door. He drank in the intimate noises of Dean getting undressed, and his neglected cock pulsed hot and painful in his boxer-shorts.

Now, he panted against the cool glass of the mirror, his fingers slowly slipping out of his body, while his come trickled downwards to the stained old carpet. He sighed, resigning himself to cleaning up and showering before Dean came back to the room and realised what he'd been doing.

* * *

John took them both on his next hunt, as it was a standard poltergeist. Nothing that they hadn't killed time and time again. Sam had done research on the house as usual, and found that the previous owner had been a woman who had hung herself almost forty years before after being jilted by her lover.

It all sounded like a plot from one of those bad dime store novels in Dean's opinion, but that didn't mean the bitch wasn't capable of inflicting harm on people. Something she'd already done in fact, almost killing the poor guy who'd recently bought the house and moved in with his wife and young child. Much to their chagrin, they'd discovered that she _had _in fact been cremated, so her spirit was obviously still connected to something in the house.

After John and Dean had posed as State Police Officers, they had discovered that the wife had found a beautiful vintage locket in attic. They instantly knew that that was what grounded her to the house, and thankfully the locket was being kept in the wife's trinket box in the master bedroom.

John had waited until the wife and kid had gone to visit her husband at the hospital before they dared go in. The house was quiet and dark, only the porch light was on outside, the exterior was deceivingly cheerful with its red front door and matching window boxes and shutters.

"Dean, make sure you cover your brother and I," John said, raising the shotgun that had the rock salt inside of it. "We can't afford to be taken by surprise."

"Yes, sir," he replied, ignoring Sam's eye roll.

They slowly made their way up the stairs, Sam was a long, hot line against his back. Dean tried to concentrate and not think about the bulge in his baby brother's jeans where he was pressed up against him.

Suddenly the silence was broken by a shrill scream and the apparition appeared in front of them, flickering like the picture on a bad television set. John aimed the shotgun and let a shot off, making her momentarily disappear in a curling cloud.

They quickly continued down the passage until they came to the main bedroom. The dressing table was large and old fashioned, and the trinket box sat on it squat and black. Sam made to reach for it, but he was suddenly thrown across the room, bashing into the wardrobe before collapsing in a heap on the floor.

"Sammy!" Dean cried in alarm, before lifting his gun and training it at the dressing table.

"Dean," John barked. "Get the lighter out and burn the whole trinket box!"

"Yes sir," he replied, tucking the gun into his waistband and lifting the box.

John held the shotgun at the ready as Dean put the box on the floor and opened it, revealing the old locket with its delicate hand panted flowers and ornate gold setting. He tried to ignite the lighter, but nothing happened, sweat beginning to coat his upper lip as he continued to press his thumb down on the metal grinders.

"_Shit," _he whispered, cursing the fact that the butane must have run out.

"Use a goddamn match," John ordered impatiently.

Dean dropped the lighter to the floor and quickly got the matches out of his pocket. He sighed in relief as the match caught and he dropped it into the jewellery box. He looked up at his dad in triumph, but before he could savour his victory, he was also flying through the air towards Sam's still form.

Next thing he new he was prostrate, with his face buried in his younger sibling's crotch, the faint musk of Sam's groin filling his nose and making his mouth water. He sat back abruptly, feeling inappropriately aroused and dizzy. He looked around and realised that his father was standing next to him, looking more than a little displeased.

Sam began to stir as John offered Dean his hand and helped his eldest son to his feet.

"Sammy," Dean said. "You okay?"

Sam blinked and then nodded groggily, getting to his feet slowly.

"Dean," John said harshly. "You were supposed to have your brother's back."

"Yes sir," he answered quietly.

"You'd better make sure that you don't make an amateur mistake like you did with the lighter again. We can't afford mistakes like that. You'd better get your _head _in the game."

Dean wanted to moan as he thought about the hillock in which his face had been buried, and how he wanted to give _Sam _**_head_**_. _

_Stop thinking about Sammy's cock! _he internally chastised himself.

"Yes sir," he said again.

John gave him one last irate look before he marched off, leaving Dean and Sam no choice but to follow. Dean looked at Sam, taking in his tousled hair and the bloom of heat on his cheeks, and tried to keep his thoughts clean as he dropped his gaze.

_I am _**_not _**_thinking about his huge, insanely gorgeous cock,_ he thought determinedly.

Yeah, right.

* * *

It was July when they were in Maine, or Stephen King Country, as Sam dubbed it. John was hunting a nest of vampires, and Dean felt frustrated that their father had decided to hunt with a local contact and leave Dean to "babysit" Sam. He knew it was meant as a punishment for almost botching their last hunt.

The summer holiday stretched out long and seemingly endless for Sam, who despite being able to finish the term at the last school he was at, was still moody. His blood felt hot and thick, his skin itching at Dean's constant close proximity, and his revealing state of dress thanks to the muggy weather. He often lounged around in thin tank tops and form fitting shorts, that showcased the gentle swell of that delicious ass and his bowed legs. Sam's mouth watered with the need to touch, but he firmly resisted, instead becoming more snappish and sarcastic as his desire grew and was denied.

Dean was at least relieved that Sam's bad humour was directed at him, rather than stirring the melting pot between he and their father. He tried to be subtle about the fact that he stayed in the room more often, trying to catch a glimpse of that gorgeous cock, when Sam was dressing after showering. Even soft it was so pretty, dark pink at the tip and lying against Sam's thigh like a lazy snake, waiting to thicken. Dean imagined getting down on his knees, and taking that flared head into his mouth, feeling it stretch his lips wide, so heavy and hot on his tongue. He pictured Sam tracing the thick outline of his own cock through the sensitive skin of Dean's cheek and throat, where it would bulge and pulse so deliciously.

They both tried to distract themselves from their increasingly sexual thoughts about one another. Dean almost obsessively cleaned the guns and went for long walks in the woods, finding a beautiful clear brook deep enough to swim in. He shoved away thoughts of Sam naked and wet, and concentrated on the fact that there was a small clearing not far from the stream where they could train.

Sam made determined headway with his summer reading list, getting himself lost in Faulkner and Lee, trying not to feel stung at the fact that Dean was blatantly ignoring him. Had Dean realised where his thoughts dwelled? Was he repulsed? Sam wouldn't be surprised if he was, it wasn't exactly considered normal for you to want to screw your beautiful older brother. His dreams about being with Dean became more vivid, and he knew that it wasn't just about fucking Dean anymore, but about making love to him. Giving him pleasure. Making him _want _Sam. In his dreams Dean was responsive, stunning in his pleasure, like he was that night with the Texan. But he would be Sam's, _all Sam's, _and he'd cry out while Sam filled him up, made him _feel and want and _**_need_**_._

Sam was ready to climb out of his own skin when Dean suggested they go and train in the small clearing by the brook he'd found.

"I don't feel like dad chewing me out for not keeping up with your training," he explained, tying his boots.

He was wearing slightly less revealing shorts today, but the bottom of his thighs and his long calves were still visible, covered in amber hair and sprinkled with caramel freckles and dark chocolate beauty spots. His tank top was loose and thin, wide in the armpits so that the material settled against the hard nubs of his nipples, and showed the lightly tanned skin of his lean sides.

Sam gritted his teeth as he shoved his feet into his own boots, not realising that Dean hungrily watched the way his t-shirt pulled across the burgeoning broadness of his shoulders, and the muscles flexed in his long, lithe biceps.

Dean turned away when Sam's shoelaces were secured, and made his way out of the cabin into the warm sunlight. There was a slight breeze, which stopped the humidity from being unbearable, and Dean could hear birds chirping in the distance. They didn't say a word as they traipsed through the undergrowth, Dean looking back at Sam everyone now and then, and unconsciously bearing the golden, vulnerable arch of his throat. Sam felt transfixed by the way Dean's muscles rippled as he moved, and the tight swell of his mouthwatering ass in his shorts that rode up a little every time he walked, revealing teasing, tantalising skin.

They reached the clearing after what felt like an age and simultaneously a few minutes. The ground was covered in dark brown soil, patches of moss and clover growing over it and spreading out towards the trees surrounding it, where light green fern-hybrid plants swayed gently in the breeze.

Dean got into a defensive stance and motioned for Sam to approach him, "Okay, Sammy, show me what you've got."

Sam mirrored his brother's pose, feeling the tension of the past few days, months, _years, _his forbidden, hidden desire filling his muscles.

He proceeded towards Dean slowly before quickly attacking with a few well-place, speedy jabs. Dean countered them, but with some effort. Soon they were both panting, their muscles and joints singing with the effort of defending their flanks and producing parrying blows. Sam's t-shirt was clinging to his front, moulding his pectoral and abdomen, distracting Dean for long enough that Sam managed to get his legs out from under him. Dean fell to the forest floor in a graceless heap, his eyes wide as he took in he and Sam's relative positions.

Sam was straddling him, his thumbs pressing into the delicate skin of Dean's throat.

"What you gonna do, Sammy?" he whispered, his nails digging into the earth, feeling it cool and damp in his fingernails.

"_Fuck, Dean," _he murmured, gently ghosting his lips over his brother's. "So beautiful. And _sexy." _

Dean's tongue hesitantly parted his lips and softly lapped at the tender flesh of Sam's lower lip.

"I'm all sweaty, Sammy," he finally replied. "Let's go for a dip. _Naked." _

Sam couldn't help but laugh as Dean wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, but it abruptly dried up as Dean removed his shirt, revealing his broad back. He continued to undress, until he waded into the cool stream, and stood nude and confident, his green eyes challenging Sam to join him.

Sam almost throttled himself removing his shirt, scared that if he took too long that Dean would disappear, like a phantom torment. He couldn't believe that only an hour before he'd been stewing over his feelings for Dean, and now his older brother was standing before him, willing, unabashedly baring that stunning body.

Sam couldn't help but stare at that glorious ass, bare, smooth and supple, dotted with freckles.

Dean bit his lip at the sight of Sam's glittering, slanted eyes, the glossy brown of his tousled hair, until his gaze finally settled on that half hard, flushed cock. He couldn't help but moan at the fact that Sam was entirely bare around his dick. He wanted to trace his tongue from the mole next to Sam's navel down to that wondrous member, and take those heavy testes into his mouth, feel them move against his palette.

They met half-way, the crisp, clear water lapping at their thighs, as they kissed again, their tongues slowly massaging one another. Sam couldn't refrain from cupping Dean's buttocks in his large hands, letting his long thumbs trace that velvet smooth crease, swallowing Dean's sigh of pleasure as they continued to kiss. Dean's fingers traced over the taut skin of his baby brother's cock, a butterfly light touch that made Sam arch his body against his. Dean slowly opened his eyes, moving his mouth across Sam's high cheekbone, while his sibling's thick, dark lashes fluttered, and his cherry red lips parted on shallow breaths.

Dean gently kissed the shell of his ear, whispering, "I want this inside me, Sammy. I want you to _split _me right open with it."

Sam's breath hitched lightly, his fingers flexing against Dean's buttocks, imagining himself buried inside of the convulsing heat they hid.

"Dean," he replied. "_Dean. _I've never—"

"Why?" Dean demanded softly. "You're so gorgeous, baby."

"No," Sam shook his head. "Not like you. Never like you."

Dean silenced him with a featherlight kiss, "Tell me, Sammy. Please."

"I—I—," he blushed right down to his chest. "My cock—it…_frightens _people."

Dean wanted to laugh, but he stifled it and instead replied, "People are idiots, baby. Tell me what happened."

Sam buried his face in the warm slope of Dean's neck, his voice slightly muffled, "It happened for the first time when Betty Tabakowitz wanted me to f—fuck her in the supply closet in the ninth grade. I g—got my pants down, and then—and then she said it was…too…_big. _She said I'd—that I'd hurt her. I felt so hu—humiliated, just standing there with—with my pants down. _Oh God, _Dean."

Dean stroked his hair soothingly, laying little kisses along his temple and jaw.

Sam let out a shuddering breath, continuing in a slightly louder voice, "Then Jason Klein wanted me to sleep with him in Sophomore year, and I even got my—my fingers _inside _of him. But then he just…chickened out, I guess, and ended up blowing me, and then bitching about how I choked him."

"They were fucking idiots," Dean said fiercely, loosely stroking Sam now. "You know what I've been dreaming about, Sammy?"

"Yeah?" he breathed, trying not to buck into Dean's hand.

"I've been dreaming about you splitting me open, _stretching _me so wide that I could feel it for a_ week _afterwards. You know what I wanna do, baby?"

Sam shook his head, whimpering as his brother's thumb lifted his foreskin and gently pushed the tip of his thumb under it.

"I want to sink down onto this _perfect _cock, and ride you. I want to come _just _from sinking down onto you, and letting you fuck me until I feel you in my _throat. _I don't think that'll be a problem, not with this gorgeous monster."

Sam was so turned on that Dean's porn dialogue was making him tremble, and he felt in danger of coming as his fingernail dug into his slit.

"Next time, I want you down my throat, making me swallow _all _of your come. But I can't wait today. I want you to fuck me too badly."

Sam traced lazy circles on the sensitive skin of Dean's buttocks, making him bite his lip again and bend so that their bellies slid against one another.

"I'm not going to fuck you, Dean," Sam replied emphatically.

Dean's eyes flew open and confusion and hurt filled his emerald eyes, he opened his mouth to protest, but Sam silenced him with a soft kiss.

"No, Dean," he spoke against his brother's lush mouth. "I'm going to make love to you. Show you how much I want you. How much you _belong _to me, and I _belong _to you."

Dean couldn't help but smile, following Sam as he waded out of the brook and walked onto the shore.

"I don't have lube," Sam admitted, disgruntled.

Dean licked his lips, his thumbs stroking over the blue veined flesh of Sam's velvet smooth wrist, "I do. In my shorts' pocket."

Sam raised an eyebrow and smirked, before rifling through the pockets and locating a small sachet of lubricant.

His voice was breathy as he asked, "Do you want me to prepare you or—or do you want to do it yourself."

Dean gently pushed Sam until he was lying on his back on the damp dirt with Dean hovering over him.

"You can do it," he smiled. "I have to teach you how to properly finger someone anyway."

Sam rolled his eyes, "I do know how to finger someone, Dean. I've done it to myself before."

"Yeah, I know."

"Huh, you know?"

Dean nodded, "Saw you doing it in the motel in front of the mirror."

Sam turned tomato red, his expression of absolute mortification.

"Hey," Dean said, stroking Sam's stomach. "I thought it was fucking _hot. _I came so hard just thinking about it when I masturbated. And besides, it's different when you finger someone else to when you finger yourself. You can't _feel _how the other person's feeling, so you have to be gentle and considerate, get them to relax and enjoy it. Learn how to read their bodies and what makes them want more, or less."

Sam's hands slightly as he tore the sachet open and drizzled too much lube over his fingers, before guiding them to Dean's tight, pink puckered hole. His breath hitched as he slowly slipped one finger inside, feeling the clinging heat of his older brother's insides.

"Nice and slow, baby," Dean almost sighed. "Yeah, like that."

Dean revelled in the feeling of that long finger spearing him, gently massaging his tingling inner walls, making something warm and pleasant pool in his lower belly. He began to slowly ride the finger, knowing that he would be ready for a second soon enough. He was determined to enjoy the preparation, because it would be rather lengthly, considering how huge Sam was.

Sam began to tease a second finger around the dark pink flesh suckling him, gently stroking Dean's perineum, feeling coarse pubic hair tickle his skin. His dick twitched when Dean's insanely hot body swallowed the second incursion. His brother continued to fuck himself downwards, his long, tawny lashes resting on his freckled cheeks, the delicate skin of his eyelids like speckled eggs, the white, even row of his teeth capturing his plush lower lip.

When four of Sam's fingers were buried inside of him, Dean's cock was pulsing and oozing pearls of pre-ejaculate onto his younger brother's taut stomach. Sam's eyes were like swirling constellations of gold, green and blue, framed by his dark eyelashes. His hair was damp with sweat and the moistness of the earth, and his other hand tightly gripped Dean's thigh, seemingly anchoring him.

"Okay, Sammy," he breathed. "I want you to fuck me now."

Sam nodded, almost in a daze it seemed as he removed his fingers. He slicked up his cock, careful not to be too enthusiastic and come before he was inside Dean.

"I don't ever bareback," Dean admitted, as he positioned himself over that delicious cock. "But you're different, baby. I love you, Sammy."

"I love you, too, De," Sam gasped, as Dean's body incrementally enveloped him in that _wonderfully _tight asshole.

Dean couldn't help but let out a little keen as Sam filled him completely. He could feel his rim straining around the thick base, his insides prickling with sensation as Sam's humungous cock made room for itself. He pressed his hand against his stomach, and there, just below his navel, he could feel the bulge of the head. _Oh God, _it felt glorious!

They established a steady rhythm, Sam's cock hammering Dean's prostate on every second stroke, shooting bursts of almost indescribable pleasure up Dean's arched spine. Sam held handfuls of Dean's soft skinned buttocks, endeavouring to remember each expression Dean's gorgeous face, as if he would never see it that way again.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, _Sammy!" _Dean chanted huskily, bouncing on his baby brother's dick desperately.

Sam could feel his release building at the base of his cock, but he wanted to _really _see his cock sinking into that exceptional ass. He flipped them over, startling a _humpf _out of Dean, before he smoothly thrust back into that winking hole.

Dean's back bowed as Sam held onto his ankles, holding his legs as wide as they could go, and fucked into him brutally, enraptured by the sight of his blood-rich opening swallowing his cock so hungrily. Dean dug his fingernails into the soil as Sam pushed him upwards with each thrust, making the moss and clover slide along his back.

"Going to fuck you everyday, Dean," Sam panted. "Going to make you fall a part for me."

He couldn't help but trace his finger around Dean's strained rim, simultaneously massaging his perineum again. The tip of his finger teased until Dean's seemingly insatiable entrance suckled at it, too.

Dean's cock swelled and then suddenly ruptured, spraying thick release all over his stomach and chest. He cried out so loudly that a flock of birds took flight, while his inner walls rippled around Sam's turgid length. Sam's hips snapped forward, his grip on Dean's ankles sure to leave smudged finger-shaped bruises, and emptied himself inside of him with an almost hurt sound.

Sam let of his legs so that they subsided onto the ground, leaving him spread wide with Sam's flaccid cock still nestled inside of him. They both panted harshly for a few minutes until Sam pulled out, and his come trickled out of Dean's asshole. He reached forward without thinking and gently traced Dean's distended entrance.

"Sammy," Dean murmured softly, drawing Sam's attention to his face. "Let's go clean up in the stream."

Sam nodded, reluctantly drawing his finger back. He helped Dean up and they silently waded back into the water. Dean dipped down, rinsing his come off of his chest and stomach. The water felt pleasantly cool against the hot flesh of his hole. He watched lazily as Sam cleaned the come and lube off of his cock and balls.

"Come here, Sam," Dean smiled, his lovely body glistening from the water.

He nodded, being careful not to cut his feet open on a wayward shard of river pebble as he made his way over to his big brother. Dean wrapped his arms around his shoulders, enjoying the feeling of their hard bodies pressed flush together.

Sam didn't protest as Dean drew him down into a languid kiss, their tongues slowly exploring one another's mouth, sliding over the other's soft pallet and the sharp cut of their teeth. Dean moaned as Sam drew soft patterns on his back.

When they drew a part, Sam looked slightly troubled.

"What is it baby?"

"I—Are we going to do this again, Dean?" he asked, trying not to sound to hopeful.

Dean smiled slowly, " 'Course. You did promise to fuck me everyday, after all. You can't go back on your word now."

Sam just laughed as Dean claimed his mouth again.


End file.
